


Prayers for the Dead

by 4eeldrive



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4eeldrive/pseuds/4eeldrive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only natural that Death's handmaid and a vampire who cheated death would find themselves in a kismessitude.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayers for the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the homestuck kinkmeme. 
> 
> Original prompt:  
> "i've read a lot of blackrom fics, but disappointingly few of them really play up the romantic aspect of kismesissitude! there's a lot of scratching and biting and rough sex, and all of those are good things, but sometimes it seems like they are the only things.
> 
> in red romance fics, there are all sorts of cutesy things the couple might do together or for each other; people make cheesy, dramatic declarations of their affections and leave little love notes for each other and whisper things into their partner's ear to make them blush in front of everyone.
> 
> so let's translate that into blackrom! someone leaving little notes for their partner to remind them what a complete asshole they are. kicking and scratching each other under the table at lunch. baking a batch of cookies shaped like spades for their kismesis, and filling one of them with spicy peppers. whispering in private moments about how they've never met another person half so annoying and selfish and detestable, or who turns their guts to fire and tar and sulfur every time they're near.
> 
> bonus points for other people reacting to all this adorable hate. like nepeta taking ship notes, and karkat pretending to ignore it but secretly swooning over how romantic it is, and the humans being generally befuddled."

 

It was really only natural, for Death’s handmaid to take a vampire as her kismesis. Those gangly limbs that should have long ago stopped moving were infuriatingly attractive, as were the talons that had taken on the dull sheen of death. It was vile, the way her body creaked with on-going death throes, but at the same time her straining sinews were like sighing music to a Goddess of Death. The glowing was too damn bright, and made her eyes sear each time she looked at her. For her part, Kanaya thought Aradia dangerous, simmering like the tiniest gas leak ready to ignite, or the first microbes of a deadly plague. Unpredictable, prone to machinating things to break apart, Far Too Random. Her laughter is too jarringly loud, and all Kanaya wants now is some peace and silence. After the game there’d been biting and scratching and clawing, lovely mixtures of burgundy and jade staining both their new respiteblocks. The others had all gone through multiple match-ups after the end of the game, trying to sort themselves out, desperate for contact, but Kanaya and Aradia had held onto each other in a death-grip. Like a water-reptile rolling its prey to death under water, drowning and snapping its neck, the two had hooked themselves into each other with jaws that could crush iron and bone.

Aradia’s hair has grown even longer, and Kanaya frequently does it for her. Her talons scrape against Aradia’s scalp as she pulls her hair back, streaking it with faint traces of blood. She pulls it too tight into a ponytail, even as she croons How Very Beautiful It Is. Her hands trace down Aradia’s neck after she has finished, in a parody of a massage, pressing too deeply into her muscles. Aradia wills herself to keep still against the pain response every time, as Kanaya hums broken snatches of a song her Mother Grub used to lull her to sleep with. There is no way Kanaya would have forgotten the melody, she merely pretends and refuses to share it in its entirety. Aradia retaliates by clipping Kanaya’s nails too short. She makes them stubby and close to the finger, like a human’s. It lessens the damage the vampire can inflict on her scalp and shoulders in their daily grooming rituals. Kanaya is so fussy about her appearance; it is a blow to her ego each week she has to wait for her death-slowed body to regrow the keratin into long, sharp points.

In the early hours, Kanaya watches the stars set, enraptured, allowing Aradia the chance to sneak up behind her. Clever, prying fingers flit up the jade blood’s sides, circling inwards to trace her gaping stomach wound. She presses deep into the scar tissue, pressing up until she can feel the broken vertebrae column. She jams her fingers against it so hard that she can feel the individual ridges of the broken bone through the mess of imperfect flesh. Ghost pains shoot up along Kanaya’s spinal column, leaving her shuddering and whimpering, relying fully on Aradia to support her weight. There’s a 50% chance that Aradia will drop her.

Kanaya makes Aradia the loveliest clothes; equally as lovely as the ones she makes for Rose. Aradia’s are the deepest, richest burgundy, decorated with skeletal motifs, mirroring what must be a lovely bone structure hidden under that divine flesh with its veins still pumping blood. They’re trimmed with hidden slivers of jade, in the inside stitching, hidden so only Aradia can find it, the rich green burning against her. Aradia can almost feel the color bleeding into the pores of her skin. The fabrics drape across her body in all the right ways, framing her like art, like a high priestess. The gifts draw jealous compliments from everyone else, and Kanaya churrs in pleasure at her kismesis’ elegance.

Kanaya leaves pins in – just a few- hidden in the seams artfully, so Aradia will only find them after they’ve hooked themselves in her skin. The clothes match her blood color perfectly so no one can see the pinprick stains along the neck and belly. Aradia refuses to do laundry, letting the blood set and her sweat stains become Embarrassingly Noticeable before Kanaya inevitably steals her gifts back to clean and mend them and re-seed the barbs.

And of course, Kanaya has to feed. She is not gentle with Aradia, like she is with the others. She always drinks just slightly too much, leaving Aradia half-conscious each time.

They both know that Vriska watches them, their grooming of one another, and notices the bite marks. She longingly runs her hands over the fabrics of Aradia’s clothes when she thinks she can get away with it. Vriska watches and can’t tell who she’s most jealous of, Kanaya or Aradia.

Their smoldering kismesissitude scares Rose. For as much as she’d like to pretend she understands troll romance, when Kanaya and Aradia are together they become so fully alien to her. She worries about Kanaya, and the claw marks at her collarbones and spine, but at the same time, she can’t help but acknowledge that it’s just a little bit hot. And Aradia’s teeth aren’t nearly so sharp as Kanaya’s. 

The note written in Aradia’s scrawling hand was almost too much, only a few months after the game had ended. They’d won the game, but the matriorb remained broken and the trolls remained twenty-four, and would never rise above that number. Rubbing it in, in scrawling maroon ink, bringing up that one lasting failure, had left Kanaya sobbing on the floor, clawing at her stomach wound, desperate to open it up again and bleed out in penance. A dead kismesis is no kismesis, even for the Maid of Death, much as she wished otherwise. She tries her best to fold herself around Kanaya, who is twice her height, stroking her ribs, murmuring words of praise, quiet confirmations, and prayers for the dead. She nips playfully at Kanaya’s large bat-like ears, not even enough to make them bleed. Kanaya kicks out with her legs, catching Aradia in the gut, causing her to roll away and double up, retching. She feels so could vomit up fire and bile, burn them both.

Ardaia retaliates by punching at the base of Kanaya’s skull, netting herself a tackle and fangs at her throat. Kanaya’s breath is devoid of heat, instead cold and rattling. It chills Aradia’s neck as it clouds against her pulse. Kanaya doesn’t bite, but shifts her weight in a way that makes Aradia worry for her ribcage. She stays there, pressing the air from Aradia’s lungs with her ice-pick elbows until Aradia is struggling to breathe. Then she leans in, shifting her weight to a more even distribution, asking Aradia to repeat her prayers. Aradia spits in her face but obliges, holding Kanaya as she weeps.

They cling to each other like a bear-trap to a bloody, shattered limb.


End file.
